Sell Your Soul
by Darker Still
Summary: It’s been twenty years since Maximum Ride was fourteen & hardly more than a child; but she accomplished more than any child has ever done in history. Now married to Fang & in her thirties, Max wants to be a good mother for her troubled daughter. FAX
1. Distress

**Summary: **_**It's been twenty years since Maximum Ride was fourteen and hardly more than a child; but she accomplished more than any child has ever done in history. The flock grew from protecting the world against global warming to becoming the Guardians, elite soldiers charged with protecting VIP government persons and entering high-danger level war areas, where no one else dared to go. Now married to Fang and in her thirties, Max has tried to put the brakes on her fast life and settle down for once, quitting her Guardian life to finally be there for her troubled sixteen-year-old daughter. Despite the good life Max has tried to give her daughter, Arianna is still determined to undermine everything in her life that Max never had the chance to have. Max has never felt like a failure before, until she became a mother—but everything changes when Arianna is abducted, and time begins to tick.**_

**A/N: Full summary up there, in that other paragraph, and on my profile. Why I have it written in two places is a mystery, but then, I am a very mysterious person :) This was some random inspiration that hit me like freakin' lightning. Needed to write it down before it drove me crazy. I'm not sure how original this is, but I'm trying to mold it into something that is uniquely mine :) I'm trying my hardest to make Max sound like Max—let me know if she seems OOC? Then again, she is thirty in this... THIS IS IMPORTANT, because I may or may not mention this in the story. Max is living under the false last name of "Reid"—an anagram of "Ride," quite obviously—for security reasons. Just thought I'd mention that, just so no one asks. I'm currently listening to "Human" by the Killers…I dunno, I feel like it kind of fits this chapter. I like listening to certain songs while working on certain things.**

**DISCLAIMER: any of the original characters & other things from **_**Maximum Ride**_** don't belong to me. Not a one. Tragic, really.**

* * *

**Sell Your Soul -1- Distress**

_**MAX**_

I was in a full-blown panic-attack.

"You're positive you haven't seen her?" I confirmed with Michelle, one of Arianna's close friends.

"I'm positive, Ms. Reid. I have no idea where Ari is." Her voice sounded terrified, like she thought I was going to come hunt her down and force the truth out of her. "If I did, I would tell you right away. I swear."

"She isn't answering her cell phone," I said.

"The only thing she told me is that she needed to breathe," Michelle squeaked.

"I don't know what that means," I barked at her.

The poor girl was probably quivering to pieces on the other end of the line. "She told me she was feeling suffocated."

"Suffocated?" I repeated dumbly.

I felt like ripping my hair out.

I tried to calm down. "Thank you," I said, trying to sound a little mentally stable. I just hung up and went outside.

The sun had set a long time ago, and Arianna's curfew was eleven. It was ten past twelve.

I tried her cell phone again, but the only thing I got was her voicemail.

"_This is Arianna! Sing your song, and I'll sing it back later." BEEP._

"Arianna Valencia Ride," I growled in the phone. "You'd _better_ call me back right now, before I get a freaking aneurysm from being so worried about you. The only excuse you have for getting out of this one is if you were the victim of some sick crime. Because the second you get home—"

The phone beeped, signaling there was a call waiting. I glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Fang.

I finished up the message.

"Just get home right away when you get this message, okay? Call me." I picked up the other call. "What?" I snapped.

"I was about to ask if she'd come home yet, but that was my answer."

The panic-attack was coming back. "I have no idea where she is," I almost sobbed. "I'm so worried I can't even breathe, and she isn't answering her phone, and her friends don't know where she is, and you're on the other side of the world, and I _can't do this_." I covered my face with my hands, wishing motherhood hadn't made me a hormonal freak.

"I'm sure she's fine," Fang soothed. "You know how Arianna is."

Self-centered brat is what she is.

"Her friend said she needed to breathe because she felt suffocated." Was I whimpering? If I was whimpering, I was honestly going to slap myself. "Am I suffocating our daughter?"

"Well, your maternal instincts can be a bit smothering at times."

"Thank you for contradicting me," I snapped. "That makes me feel so much more like this _isn't_ my fault."

He sighed, and I knew if we were fourteen, he would have probably said, "Well, it kind of is."

But just because we were thirty and married didn't change much.

"I can try calling her," he suggested.

"Her phone is off—that's the problem." It had better not be off. If I found out her phone was off, I was going to kill that girl. I hoped her battery died and she was speedily making her way home with some elaborate surreal story that I somehow believed was true. But I knew that wasn't going to happen. Arianna didn't bother with excuses; she was honest. And that wasn't a good thing. "Nobody can reach her, and I'm getting worried. Should I call the police?"

"And blow this out of proportion? Yeah, Arianna will definitely forgive you for that."

"Will you _please_ say something helpful?"

The phone beeped again since someone else was calling me. I looked at the screen and could have screamed.

"It's Arianna," I exclaimed. Without waiting for a response from Fang, I took her call. "Ari?"

There was a moment of silence, and then she said, "You're going to yell at me, aren't you." She didn't even have to ask, because she already knew.

She reminded me how angry I was. "I am, actually. What the _hell_ were you thinking?!" I snapped at her. "Do you know how worried I've been? How worried your father's been? Actually, he wasn't that worried because he thinks he knows you better—but do you realize how worried _I've _been? Where are you?"

"Downtown," she replied simply. "By the way, I got your messages. All thirty-two of them." I knew she was rolling her eyes.

"Get your ass home, right now," I ordered.

"Well, that's kind of why I'm calling. I'm sorta stuck."

That didn't sound good; my angry expression was wiped off my face for a moment. "Stuck? How are you stuck?"

"I went out to eat with Spencer, and he'd told me he was going to pay, so I didn't bring my wallet. And then he realized he forgot his, so we've been stuck here for three hours."

"And you didn't call me three hours ago?" I half-screeched at her.

"I'm shrugging, Mom," she said. "We were a little too busy getting harassed by the restaurant manager."

Times like this I needed a stress ball, or an Eraser to beat senseless. Man, sometimes I missed those things.

"I cannot believe you, Arianna."

"Can you just come get us?" she said in an exasperated voice.

It would serve her right if I didn't, but I was her mom. And like Fang said, my maternal instincts are "smothering."

"What restaurant?" I sighed. I was beginning to realize I was one of those mothers who let her kids walk all over her.

And that did not sound like Maximum Ride.

* * *

"Are you mad at me?"

I'd walked into the restaurant, and just followed the shouting. Arianna hadn't been exaggerating—the manager _was_ harassing her. After diffusing the situation a bit, I paid the check, told Spencer to get home, and herded Arianna into my car.

I shot her an infuriated look. "Am I mad? Am I _mad_? Of _course_ I'm mad! Arianna, I started thinking maybe you'd been abducted and murdered! Why didn't you _call_ me?"

Arianna acted like she didn't hear me for a couple seconds. She was playing with her big white sunglasses in her lap, then checked her cell phone for text messages.

"I dunno. It just didn't occur to me then. I just thought it would be a bit embarrassing."

"So you sat in a restaurant for three hours because you didn't want to be embarrassed for calling your mom? You are a freakishly self-conscious child." I had no idea where she got that from.

"You have the freakish part right," Arianna muttered. She slid her sunglasses on over her dark, exotic eyes.

"No, do not shut me out, Arianna. I am talking to you."

"You're not talking to me; you're _yelling_ at me," she argued. "There's a difference. Talking is conversing, and yelling is just yelling. I didn't call you to come get me so you could yell at me."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

She didn't answer.

I swung into the driveway and parked the car. Arianna went to open the door, but I clicked the button that locked all of the doors before she could even touch the door handle.

"We have tried," I said, softly to make her listen, "to give you a life that we never had."

"Oh, don't give me this stupid speech again, Mom—"

"We grew up in _dog crates_, Arianna," I interrupted. "You have no idea what that's like. _I_ never got to sleep in a king-sized bed. _I_ never got decent food. _I_ never got to go to a real school. I _never_ had a normal life, Arianna. You have no idea how much that means."

"In case you haven't noticed, we _aren't_ normal." There was a slight movement on Arianna's back, under her jacket, as she moved her wings.

"You're _special_, Arianna," I corrected quietly. "You're unique."

"Well, maybe I don't _want_ to be unique. I never asked to be a bird kid. I never wanted any of this."

"And you think we did?"

Arianna glared at me from behind the shelter of her sunglasses, then pulled up the lock with her fingers and got out.

She slammed the door behind her and stormed up to the house.

I sat still in the car for a moment, holding the steering wheel between my hands so tightly I was surprised I didn't break it. I took deep breaths, repeating the same silent mantra over and over in my head.

_I am not a bad mother._

* * *

_**ARIANNA**_

My mother thought that my life was great. That I was lucky.

Lucky? Nothing was lucky when you're not even human—at least not completely.

I went right up to my room and shut my door. I hesitated by it, then decided to lock it. I didn't want to see my mom any more tonight.

I peeled off my black leather jacket—it wasn't even mine, it was Spencer's—and dropped it on my bed before I pulled off my blouse to stretch out my wings.

They were always sore from being pulled in so tightly all the time. If I had things my way, I wouldn't need to hide them. It was actually a government order that I had to remain under the radar. All of us had to. Very few people even knew about our existence. That's why my family lived under fake names—why my mom wasn't Maximum Ride anymore. She was just the unassuming, inconspicuous Melanie Reid.

Once upon a time, when my parents were about my age, they didn't have to hide who they were at one point. Everyone knew what they were, and no one hated them. They'd been heroes. They still were, they just didn't have all that publicity anymore. As far as the rest of the world knew, the avian-hybrids had gone into hiding when, in fact, they were out in plain view.

My parents and their flock—my uncles and aunts, technically—were Guardians. All that "surviving" they had to do when they were younger had trained them to be fighters, protectors. Now they protected big-shots in the government and the like, and went in where no other soldiers could go in war-zones. I figured the only reason they did it was because there really wasn't anything else they could do to earn a living in this world. Upside: it paid well. _Really_ well.

Mom used to be a Guardian, but then she quit. She thought I needed her more. She thought I needed to have some sort of parental figure in my life.

Sometimes I wished she'd stayed out on the field, because I definitely don't need her anymore. I was not a child.

My phone jingled out my ringtone, and I was afraid of who it was. The caller ID read that it was my aunt Angel. She wasn't _really_ my aunt, but she was family.

I just screened it. I was too pissed off to talk anyway, even to someone as sweet as Angel.

She called two more times before she stopped, and then I called Spencer.

"Dude, my parents just gave me so much shit right now," he complained.

I had been staring absently at my schoolbag, remembering I'd had homework this weekend, and then I answered slowly, "Think you can sneak out?"

"Uh, _no_."

"Why not?" I whined. "I need to get out of this house, Spence, and you're the only person I know who'll come with me."

"I'm being watched like a hawk," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Boo."

"Are you just _determined_ to get into more trouble?" he said darkly.

I just blinked and smiled to myself. "I'll see you tomorrow, Spencer."

"Arianna, please don't—"

I snapped my phone shut then went to open the French doors that led out onto the balcony. I glanced around to make sure Mom was nowhere around outside, then hopped off the balcony and went for a fly.

* * *

_**N/A**_

The man adjusted the setting on his binoculars, improving the clarity of the lenses so that he could see the sharp outline of every house in the wealthy neighborhood he was watching. He was perched uncomfortably in a tree outside the gated community, though he was willing to put up with the discomfort.

He suddenly noticed the fluttery movement of a bird, leaping from a rooftop to find another nighttime roost. He almost dismissed it.

The man suddenly realized that the bird was much too big to be an owl—too big to be any kind of bird. The more he studied it, the more his lips curled in a smile. He watched the winged girl fly away from a large house, ebony wings spread to their full extent and moving in powerful, sweeping movements. As the girl swooped and dived and circled like a hawk, the euphoria of flying was very evident on her face.

The man watched her for an entire two hours, until the girl swept back towards earth, gliding over the tops of the houses before landing on the roof of a Spanish-styled house, sliding across the roof tiles for friction. Her wings folded back in against her back, and she climbed down onto a balcony and returned inside the house.

The man grinned to himself and pressed 1 on his speed dial. By way of greeting, he said, "I know where they've been hiding."


	2. Spineless

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in forever! I hit a rut :/ But hopefully I've gotten through it! Max is kinda OOC in this one—everyone sort of is—but you do kind of have to take into account that they've all matured a bunch. REVIEW! Please! They give me motivation! "Where Does the Good Go?"—Tegan and Sara. I am in love with this song :)**

**DISCLAIMER: any of the original characters & other things from **_**Maximum Ride **_**don't belong to me. Not a one. Tragic, really.**

* * *

**Sell Your Soul -2- Spineless**

_**MAX**_

I woke up early, before the sun, and went down the cold, shiny tiled stairs barefoot. I peeked into the kitchen and didn't see anything out of place; Arianna wasn't awake yet.

Of course not.

When did that girl ever wake up in time? After a look at the clock, I saw she still had fifteen minutes left of sleep before her alarm was set to go off.

I had tried desperately to go back to sleep, but I was having nightmares again. They made it impossible to sleep.

They popped up every now and then, every couple of months, nightmares of the School, of Itex, of the horrors I'd seen on the field as a Guardian. Sometimes they were just dreamless dreams, filled with nothing but pure terror. They always ended up getting so bad that I would need high-dose sleeping pills. Sometimes even those didn't work, and I couldn't sleep again until dawn came and the sun made me feel safe again.

I toasted myself a bagel and smeared an unfair amount of cream cheese on both halves as I waited for Arianna to come down.

I eventually heard the shower run upstairs, and Arianna was downstairs forty-five minutes later, all dressed and ready for school.

She really was a stunningly gorgeous girl. If Fang was a girl, with a girl's features and anatomy, he would look like Arianna. She'd curled her long black hair into soft ringlets, and her gypsy eyes were bright and alert. It always made me glad she hadn't gotten any of my genetics whenever I saw her; it would have been like adding some crazy ingredient to an already-perfect dish. I always had to stop and marvel at how she'd become such an expert at applying makeup. I figured Nudge had to have taught her. Nudge was obsessed with shaping Arianna into an actual girl, since she claimed I'd never done that for her. It seemed like the others did more parenting than I did.

I smiled warmly at her. "Good morning," I said, hoping I sounded neutral, not trying to ignite another fire between us.

Arianna just flicked her hand in an absent-minded wave as she filled a to-go cup with coffee.

"You could at least answer me," I told her.

With exaggerated, forced kindness, Arianna turned and said, "_Good_ _morning_, Mom."

She adjusted her schoolbag on her shoulder, sipped her coffee, then said, "Bye."

She made a beeline for the door, but stopped when I said, "Okay, _heel._"

Arianna whipped around, seething. "Don't talk to me like I'm a _dog_."

If I'd felt up to it, I probably would have said, "Come, girl." Old habits die hard; I was still a smartass, and I would still be a smartass even when I was an old woman, making trouble in the nursing home in my electric wheelchair.

"Come here."

"I'm late—"

"You are not late; now come here."

Arianna groaned melodramatically and came closer, but stayed a full wingspan away. She folded her arms and assumed the role of pouty teenager. "What?"

I just paused and studied her for a second. She was wearing a mysterious leather jacket I assumed belonged to her friend Spencer and a little strapless white sundress that I didn't recognize. I didn't recognize her white heels, either.

"Dressed up for something?" I asked.

"I can't just want to look nice?" she countered.

"Can anyone see your wings?"

"Mom, if I was that stupid, I would let you dress me. But I'm not, okay? No one can see them."

Just kidding: she did get some of my genetics. She didn't get that snarky tone from Fang.

"No one can see them," she snapped. "Do you need to check for me every day now?"

"Can we go one day without arguing, please?" I asked, fighting to keep my tone fairly peaceful. But it was _so_ hard.

"Maybe if you wouldn't antagonize me, it would be a very real possibility," she replied with narrowed eyes.

"I don't antagonize you," I snapped, sounding antagonistic. Damn.

She rolled her eyes and slid on her sunglasses, putting up her walls again. "Well, I've gotta go, Mom. We can keep fighting when I get back."

Arianna started to walk away, but I grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"I don't want to keep fighting," I said.

"I don't either, but we do it anyway, don't we?" Her lips were pursed. "Mom, I have to meet Spencer before class to get an assignment. I need to get there early."

I didn't believe her, but I acted like it. "Okay."

She started to turn to leave, but I pulled her into a hug, and her whole body was tense. She gave me a quick squeeze, then ducked out of my embrace.

"Bye," she said with a note of finality.

"Love you," I called after her as she went out the door.

Arianna shut the door on my words.

* * *

I watched from the front window as Arianna tossed her bag into her sleek black Corvette and slid into the driver's seat. It wasn't one of those sappy _oh-my-baby-is-driving_ moments, because I didn't have those moments. When have I ever been sappy? Instead, it was one of those _where-did-I-go-wrong?_ moments.

Sometimes I felt like Arianna hated me.

Even once she was gone, I lingered by the window, just thinking. I eventually went back upstairs to change out of my baggy tee-shirt and sweats and into my running outfit. I grabbed my iPod before I went out the door and went for a long run listening to the soothing sounds of Owl City.

By the time I got back, I was gross and sweaty, but exhilarated and charged with a runner's high. I didn't fly as much as I used to in the old days, so running and working out had taken its place. I took a hot shower immediately, and after I got out and was rubbing on a moisturizer, I considered my reflection in the mirror.

_How did I get so old?_ I thought for a second. My sandy blond hair was still more brown than blond—more so now since those sun streaks had long since faded. My brown eyes looked the same as always, but the face around it had aged. Sometimes it all just hit me: I was thirty-four, and I was only ever going to get older.

Ew. Now I know why women complain.

My only consolation was that even Angel wasn't a baby anymore. The little girl I'd used to treat like my own daughter was twenty-six. Funny or just sad?

I blow-dried my hair, then went into my room to pull on a pair of jeans and a top. I was just looking for a pair of matching socks when I heard the doorbell ring.

"Uh-oh," I singsonged under my breath as I ventured down the stairs and looked out the window to see if I recognized the car in the driveway. It was a cab, which, just because it was a cab, raised a red flag.

I'd never lost that certain sense of paranoia I'd developed with good reason.

I unlocked the door—wishing repeatedly in my mind that we had a peephole—and open it just a crack to peek out. I was ambushed by a bouquet of vibrant red roses.

"Surprise."

"You sap, I hate flowers."

Aren't I just great with greetings?

I flung open the door and jumped into Fang's arms to kiss him.

"What are you doing back so soon? I thought you weren't coming back until next week."

"The job was cut short." I always noticed how much Fang had flourished since we were teenagers. He smiled and talked more. For a while, it had been so weird, but now, I loved it so much. It made him seem less hostile. Then again, he acted the same as he used to in the field, so I'm not even sure if I can say it's an improvement.

I kissed him again, then stepped aside to let him in.

"Are you the only one back?" I asked, though I felt I already knew the answer. I peered around him at the taxi, willing someone else to emerge.

"Everyone's back."

"Maybe you'll all put Arianna in a good mood," I muttered darkly. "You _did_ tell the others that she'd come back, right?"

"They know. Iggy kinda wants to yell at her for scaring him so bad, though."

"Fine with me," I said dismissively. "Though I doubt it'll have any effect."

Fang winced melodramatically. "You gave her the speech, didn't you?"

I thought about lying to him, but eventually just said, "Shut up."

He wrapped his arms around me in a warm embrace. "I'll talk to her when she comes home."

If _she comes home,_ I thought sourly. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't.

"But right now, it's just you and me, and I want to make the most of it."

"Ooh." I grinned and kissed him. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"Yep. It means you _can't _do what you want to do." Nudge literally popped up out of nowhere and jumped on me, squealing. "Hi, Max!"

"You are horrible," I whined, even as I turned around and hugged her tightly. "But hello. Am I in store for any more surprises?"

"Nah. I ruined it for everyone else." Nudge winked, then pointed out the open door to where everyone else was getting out of the cab. "I wanted the big, spoiling surprise. Wasn't it awesome? I flew here just so I could surprise you."

I just stared her down, and she laughed.

Angel sprang out of the taxi, and she darted right into the house to hug me. "I missed you so much, Max!"

"I missed you, too." I hugged her tightly, happy that she was back.

She grinned her cheerful, infectious grin, then wandered towards the kitchen. "Where's that child of yours?" When Angel turned back around, her eyes weren't as friendly as they were two seconds earlier. "I need to give her a good old talking to."

"She's at school," I said pointedly. After a second, I added, "Supposedly."

"She deserves more trust," Fang pointed out to me.

"And what has she done, exactly, to earn any trust?" I answered sharply as Gazzy and Iggy came in last. "I _can't _trust her. I could place a bet right now that she's not even at school at this very second." I absently hugged Iggy and the Gasman, now suddenly consumed by the emotions I'd been hit with last night.

Times like this I wish I wasn't a mother; specifically, _Arianna's_ mother. I immediately winced after thinking that.

_You didn't mean it,_ Angel told me silently, catching the thought instantly. Her tone was consoling, rather than condemning.

"What is with mothers not trusting their teenaged daughters?" Gazzy asked, wide-eyed.

"You're not the mom—you don't understand," Angel snapped.

"I'm a guy and _I _understand," Iggy said, raising his hand. "Scared me shitless last night."

"I think you're just overreacting," Nudge said as she popped the tab on a Diet Coke. "Arianna's a big girl. She can handle herself. She's smart; she knows where the line is."

"When did _you_ turn into a mind-reader?" I asked.

Angel raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, please. You can't tell me that if we'd grown up like Arianna we wouldn't be acting the same way." Nudge grinned. "Everyone just wants to have a little fun.

Fang coughed, and Angel stared at her dubiously.

Iggy laughed without any humor. "Is there any chance that Ari's _your _daughter, and _not _the result of _them_?" He made a generalizing gesture between Fang and I.

"I think I babysat her too much when she was little."

"So this is your fault," I said, rolling my eyes. "Thank _you_, Nudge."

* * *

_**ARIANNA**_

"You are such a wimp," I muttered to Spencer when I returned his leather jacket to him in between first and second period.

He glared at me as he shrugged it on. "And you're kind of a crazy bitch. _Why _do you have the need to live on the edge? Your parents hate my guts because they think I'm the one corrupting you, when in fact, you're the bad influence. I mean, just look at yourself. There's nothing remotely about you that suggests you're trustworthy. How did you even manage to leave the house in that?"

I glanced down at my dress and smoothed my hands down the front. "You don't like it?" I raised my eyebrows at him.

Spencer sighed. "Of course _I _like it, Ari—but there's absolutely no way your parents are okay with you walking around looking like you work the street corners after dark. No parent is _that _liberal."

I smacked his arm as hard as I could, making him yelp and jump away from me. "Sometimes I really hate you."

"Sometimes I think you descended from a Greek god or something. You are a freakishly strong girl." Clutching his arm, he winced dramatically. "You're positive you've never lifted a weight in your life?"

"Spencer," I said in my buzzkill voice.

He sighed, then flung an arm around my shoulders as we walked towards our science class. "Are you at least staying the whole day and not ditching me this time?"

I smiled and shook my head. "Kara got tickets to a Lady Gaga concert. We're ditching to go."

"Kara?" Spencer repeated. "As in Kara Petersen, the sickeningly popular girl straight out of a cheesy teen movie? You've gotta be kidding me. Since when are you friends with her?"

"Since she started giving me benefits like going to see Lady Gaga in the middle of the school day."

"What's so amazing about the transvestite?"

"She's only my favorite singer," I muttered as we sat at our lab bench. "Kara just asked me one day a couple weeks ago if I wanted to come, and so I said yes. I don't pass up a chance like this."

Spencer sighed again.

"_What?_"

"She uses and she abuses. You've seen how she treats her _friends_—what do you expect is in store for you at this so-called concert?"

"Please. She drives a freaking Porsche, her parents are millionaires, and she can get any guy she wants. There's nothing she wants from me. So there's nothing she can take."

"I don't know whether I should envy your confidence or wait to say 'I told you so' when she does something completely horrible to you." Spencer raised his hand when his name was called during role.

"Why would she do that?" I asked.

"It's just what she does. She gets her kicks out of hurting people for no reason."

I raised my hand idly when the teacher called out my name. "She wouldn't _dare_ mess with me."

Spencer rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious. People who've tried to fuck with me epically fail. I'm Arianna Reid, and—"

"And I've got a big ego," Spencer filled in using a falsetto.

"And if I get burned, I burn right back a thousand degrees hotter," I snapped. "Have some faith, kid."

"Every time I _have_ faith in you, Arianna, I make a huge mistake. Now I know exactly how your parents feel."

* * *

"Oh my _God_, that was so fun!" Kara was saying as we walked through the semi-dark streets in the direction of where she'd parked her Porsche. She was half-humming "Paparazzi" under her breath while she swayed as she walked, carrying her heels and spinning and dancing. "I love her even more now, don't you?"

"Yeah." I grinned, turning my new Lady Gaga concert tee over in my hands to look at the picture on the front. I twirled my heels in my hands. "I absolutely adore her."

"I cannot believe anyone's a prick enough to think she's a man. She's gorgeous, isn't she?"

I smiled, but didn't offer any sign of agreement. I didn't think Spencer was right about Kara having malicious intentions, but even then I wasn't going to give her any kind of leverage over me. I already had a bunch of crazy rumors floating around school about me; I didn't need a lesbian rumor in the mix.

Kara threaded her arm through mine. "I'm so glad you didn't puss out like everyone else at the last minute," she said. "You're really pretty great, Arianna." She gave me a shy smile as we reached her car.

Was she hitting on me? I felt like I was being hit on.

I started to say something in reply when a voice suddenly asked, "Is that your Porsche?"

We both turned in response to see a tall, male-modelly guy walking towards us.

The little hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck stood up. I almost ruffled my wings in anxiety, but resisted.

Kara grinned flirtatiously. "Yeah. Mine."

"Hot car," he said appreciatively, stopping just a few feet from us. "Hot girls," he added with a wink.

Kara squealed with delight, but I was freaked out. Who did this guy think he was? He was practically a pedophile for hitting on us, though he couldn't have been older than twenty-five or so.

"Got hot names, too?" he asked.

Please, no.

Before I could tell him to piss off and leave us alone, Kara went and blurted our names to the guy.

"Arianna," he repeated, making my name sound dirty the way it rolled off his tongue. "Cute."

"Cute," I half-snapped in reply. "Can we go, please?" I asked Kara.

She stared at me, looking at me like she thought I was joking. When she realized I wasn't, she sighed. "Um. Okay…" Her keys jingled as she fished her keys out of her purse. She unlocked the car using the little remote on her keychain.

As she circled the car to get in, I opened the door on the passenger side, where the guy was standing about three feet away. As I quickly got into the plush leather seat, he commented, "You have beautiful legs."

I didn't even bother with being polite now; I sent him a vicious glare, shut the door, and locked it.

As Kara peeled away from the sidewalk, watching the guy in the rearview mirror for as long as she could, she asked, "What was with that hostility there?"

"It's usually a red flag when a guy confronts a couple of girls on an abandoned street," I said, pulling the seatbelt across my body and clipping it into place. "No matter how cute," I added. "And you especially don't give those strangers your real names—_God_, Kara."

She rolled her eyes. "Relax. It's not like he knows your last name, or like he's gonna stalk us home. It was just a little run-in. It wouldn't kill you to be friendly for once."

"Friendly doesn't guarantee you safety," I pointed out. "Being friendly is how people take advantage of you."

"You're so paranoid."

I glanced back to where the Porsche had been parallel-parked, but the man was gone.

* * *

Kara swung by the school, where the parking lot was empty save for a black Corvette. I hugged Kara quickly over the center console, thanked her again for taking me, then made a leggy exit that I was glad no one was around to see. I heard Kara chuckle, though. I pulled my dress back down after it rode up, shut the door, and waved goodbye to Kara. I quickly unlocked my car and didn't buckle up for the drive home.

When I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, I could hear loud, muffled music coming from inside the house. As I got out, I furrowed my brow; my mom didn't blast music like that—and even if she did, she definitely wouldn't be blasting "Tik Tok." When that had been my ringtone, it had driven her right up the wall whenever someone called—which was often.

I pushed my concert tee deep down in my school bag before locking my car and walking up to the front door as slow as possible. I tried to open the door without making any noise to alert Mom to my presence. I peeked in and, seeing the coast was clear, made a break for the stairs. I was halfway up when a voice suddenly snapped, military-style, "Hold it!"

I stubbed my toe on the hard tile stairs in an effort to stop, and I squealed in pain. "Shit!"

Mom stood at the foot of the stairs, arms folded and her pretty face contorted in a frown. She watched me reach down and massage my throbbing toe after hopping in place for a few embarrassing moments.

"Who invited the sailor into the house?" a familiar soprano voice asked. My aunt Nudge (once again, not really my aunt) swung around the corner, smiling. "Ari!" Oblivious to my mom's furious expression, she bounced up the stairs and hugged me, coffee-dark skin smelling of vanilla lotion. "I missed you, baby!"

I hugged her back, in shock. It took a few seconds for me to realize that Nudge was right here, and not in Afghanistan or some other war-torn, godforsaken place, doing that incredibly dangerous job of hers. It clicked, then, that maybe she wasn't the only one back, and now I wouldn't be confined in this house alone with my mom.

"How are you?" she gushed.

"Nudge," Mom said sharply from the ground.

Nudge blatantly ignored her, waiting for me to answer with an expectant smile in place.

"I'm…good," I said finally.

"Actually, you're grounded," Mom said cheerfully.

"Mom!" I complained at the same time Nudge snapped, "Oh, come on, Max!"

"You smell like weed, smoke, and alcohol. Want to explain how that happened in the no-tolerance school-zone?" Mom asked, ignoring us both.

Nudge stared at her in shock, then most likely caught a whiff of me, and then she turned those huge eyes on me.

I fidgeted under both their gazes, wondering how to phrase it the right way and still save myself from an even worse fate.

"She ditched school to go to a concert," Angel called from the living room.

"_What_?" my mom exploded, in perfect harmony with a voice from the living room I recognized as Iggy's.

"It's not like I committed a crime!" I said in defense of myself.

"Actually, truancy _is _a crime." Angel came around the corner, my dad with her. Iggy and the Gasman followed them, and everyone, even Iggy, fixed their eyes on me.

"In her defense," Angel said quietly, "she didn't touch anything illegal."

Mom snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Was the concert worth it, at least?" Gazzy asked hesitantly. Iggy elbowed him.

"'Was the concert _worth it_?'" my mom repeated furiously. She jabbed a finger in his direction. "Stop encouraging this kind of behavior!"

"I'm not encouraging anything!"

A loud whistle pierced the entryway, making us all cringe. We all looked towards my dad, the whistler. I suddenly remembered how when I was little, I would beg him to teach me how to do it, but I just couldn't project the shrill sound the same way he could.

"Yelling isn't going to solve anything," he said pointedly, meeting my mom's toxic gaze head-on. "We already talked about this, Max. Arianna's old enough to handle herself."

Just when I started to ooze gratefulness, my mom answered, "I don't remember the school day ending at eight o'clock. How exactly does this prove how trustworthy she is? She admitted herself—she skipped school. I'm not going to let you or anybody else condone that kind of behavior." She turned back to me, brown eyes fierce. "You're grounded, and I'm taking your driving privileges." She stuck out her hand, palm open.

I stared back dumbly. "You've _got _to be kidding me."

Mom just gave me a bitchy smile in return.

Glaring at her so hatefully I was surprised when she didn't burst into flame, I practically threw my car keys at her.

Hateful bitch.

_Hey_, a cold voice scolded in my mind. I looked furiously at Angel; her face gave nothing away.

I turned and stormed up the stairs to my room, where I slammed the door loudly to try and send a message. I threw my shoes at my mannequin—wishing it was my mom—and it toppled over from the fastball throw that belonged in the major league.

"Timber," I muttered darkly before plugging my iPod into my stereo and blasting Nickelback.

Did I hate my mother? Sometimes, with good reason.

Did I was something to happen so I wouldn't have to deal with her? Why the hell not.

I was so mad I could have burst into tears or put a hole through my wall. I did neither.

I buried my face in a pillow and screamed myself hoarse.


	3. Syndrome

****

A/N: Once again, sorry for the long period of inactiveness. Writer's block is cancerous. I wish I could churn stories out like some people can. I'm totally jealous. Sorry it's so short. "Ask Me How I Am"—Snow Patrol. REVIEW PLEASE. It's not some crazy impossible feat.

**DISCLAIMER: any of the original characters & other things from **_**Maximum Ride **_**don't belong to me. Not a one. Tragic, really.**

* * *

**Sell Your Soul -3- Syndrome**

_**MAX.**_

"You should apologize."

"Very likely," I said, rolling my eyes for the millionth time that night. I was sitting curled up in a comfortable armchair. "_She _should be the one apologizing to _me_—to all of us. Why are you just taking this all in stride?"

Fang sighed and ran his hand through his hair before perching on the arm of my chair. "She's sixteen, Max. She just wants to have fun."

"And that's okay. What's not okay is her skipping school and staying out past dark for 'fun.' This is exactly how kids get on that bad path with drugs. How do we know she's not already doing anything like that?" God forbid. I'd scalp her.

"You sound like an after-school special."

I glared at him.

"Angel would know," he assured me. "She's our radar."

"That I am." Angel came back in from the kitchen, sitting down and holding a big bowl of Captain Crunch. "She's good for now—just angry. Really angry."

"For once, we're on the same page," I said.

"No, we're not," Angel disagreed. "You, you, and you." She pointed at Fang, Nudge, and the Gasman in quick succession. "Why are you not treating this like it's a big deal?"

"Because it's not," Nudge muttered. "She's just a kid. We did worse when we were her age—when we were younger than her, in fact. But we turned out all right."

"We did that kind of stuff because we had to," Iggy said. "Not because we thought it would be fun."

"Arianna is spiraling out of control," I said simply. "Her stunts are getting worse, and I feel like we're giving this quarter-assed effort to keep her from going past the point of no return. Angel, Iggy, and I are the only ones who seem to care."

Everyone started to argue with me at that statement, but I conveniently pressed my imaginary mute button and waited until the feeling of conflict left the air and everyone's lips stopped moving.

"Someone needs to talk to her," I said.

"So you go," Nudge told me.

"You may have noticed, _Nudge_, that Arianna isn't my biggest fan right now. She's had enough of me for one night."

Angel raised her hand and twiddled her fingers. "I'll talk to her."

"You'll influence her is what you're saying," I corrected. I looked at Fang. "You. Talk to her. If you must, smack some sense into her. We haven't tried that tactic yet." I raised my eyebrows suggestively.

"You're so violent," Nudge said, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"It's in my nature. I can't help it."

"I don't do speeches," Fang said, lifting his hands defensively. "Especially to my kid. That's your thing. And I'm not going to hit her, either," he said quickly, right when I opened my mouth to suggest it.

"Any takers?" I asked hopefully, looking around at the rest of the flock.

"I'd be forced to call social services," Angel said, shaking her head. "I have to draw the line somewhere."

I sighed, then turned back to Fang. "Please. Just talk to her. She listens to you."

He tried to stare me down, but I wasn't budging.

He sighed, then got up to go talk to Arianna.

I grinned to myself. Max, one. Fang, zero.

* * *

_**ARIANNA.**_

I was lying on my bed, staring up at my revolving fan as I idly sang along with the Green Day song playing from my stereo. I was pretending, once again, not to see the massive piles of homework sitting on the floor by my bed, spilling out of my schoolbag.

I remembered when I used to be a decent student with a B-average. These days, I just didn't care anymore, and I was lucky if I received a D on an assignment.

The teachers all asked the same things, if there was something going on in my home life, what happened to make me so apathetic.

The answers were always the same: a shrug and a simple, "I don't know."

I was half asleep when I heard my door open, and the soft click roused me back into consciousness.

I bolted upright, expecting to see Mom, here to start another argument, but instead it was my dad.

"You picked my lock?" I asked, trying to sound angry. I only sounded relieved.

"Old tricks. They're still useful." He slid a slender piece of metal back into his pocket, then came over and sat on the edge of my bed.

"Am I still grounded?"

He nodded.

My upper lip curled in scorn. "For how long?"

He shrugged.

"Are _you _mad at me, too?"

"Not 'mad,' per se. More like…annoyed."

I wasn't sure if I should be confused or even more pissed off. "Annoyed?" I repeated.

"You keep doing stupid things without thinking, Arianna. You ditch school in the middle of the day, you go anywhere and everywhere without saying anything to anyone, you stay out until midnight—"

"You're all such hypocrites!" I exclaimed. "Why was it okay for you all to do those sort of things when you were kids, but it's not okay for me?" I was so furious I could have burst into tears. "I didn't even break my curfew tonight."

Dad sighed, then stretched out on my bed, watching the ceiling like I had been doing moments before.

"We were homeless," he told me. "We didn't have parents or a constant home—we didn't have any of this. We only had each other." He tipped his head to look at me. "You're different. You're the lucky one. You have this great house and you get to have a normal life."

"I'm not lucky," I mumbled, picking up my stereo remote and stopping the music, which had gone from calming to annoying.

"What makes you say that?"

I glanced over my shoulder, looking down at my wings. "These, for starters."

"Ar—"

"Please don't give me the same crap Mom gives me," I interrupted. "They don't make me special—they don't make any of us special."

He just kept on looking at me without saying anything.

I waited for him to say something, to give a stupid speech like Mom always did, but they were nothing alike.

"I don't mean to cause so much trouble," I said quietly, picking at a loose thread on my duvet. "I know this is one of those 'grass is always greener' things, but I just keep wishing that I'd lived like you did."

"In poverty? I really doubt that."

"But that was for how long? Like a year?" I switched the picking from my duvet to a hangnail on my thumb. "I mean, you guys don't know what it's like—this 'normal' life. It's not as good as you all seem to think it is. It's mundane and repetitive, and I feel like if I stop fighting it, then one day I'm going to end up slitting my wrists."

I glanced up to see his reaction to that. Dad had never been big on emotional displays, but I could see the shock in his eyes.

I waited for him to say something, but the minutes passed in silence. I fidgeted and realized I'd made the mistake of using a bad comparison.

"It's that bad?" he asked finally.

I shrugged, trying to think of a better way to phrase it. "I'm going insane, pretending to be someone I'm not. I'm not human. I can't keep acting like I am. I can't keep doing this every day of my life, lying to everybody about what I am. I'm not this girl who can keep acting like she's ordinary—I'm so much more than that." I sighed. "I know I disappoint you all, and I'm sorry for that. I'll try harder," I said, hoping I really would try and not be a liar again.


End file.
